When I proposed to Caroline back in 2000, she was a trainee solicitor and I was a freelance journalist. In my mind’s eye, I pictured myself enjoying several years as a DINK — Double Income No Kids. Imagine my horror, then, when she got pregnant as soon as she qualified and showed no intention of returning to work. Three years later, I had become a SITCOM — Single Income Two Kids Oppressive Mortgage. So much for my dreams of eventually retiring as a GLAM — Greying Leisured Affluent Married.
For years, I’ve been complaining about this in a half-serious, half-jokey way, by which I mean I needle Caroline about it until she loses her rag, at which point I say: ‘Calm down! I was only joking.’ To which she responds: ‘If it’s a joke, why do you bring it up every bloody day?’
One of my chief gripes is that I do more of the domestic chores than I would if she had a paid job because the moment I return from work she signs off for the day and expects me to take over. Her reasoning is that she’s put in her shift so now it’s my turn. When I point out that I’ve been working all day too, she hoots with derision: ‘Sitting around all morning reading the papers, then going out for a long boozy lunch and occasionally rattling off 500 words about why you prefer brunettes to blondes is not working.’ My riposte is that she’s not exactly breaking her back from nine-to-five either. Yes, she does the morning run at 8.30 a.m. and picks up our youngest from school at 3.30 p.m., but in between she lives the life of Riley, playing tennis, hanging out with her girlfriends, and occasionally heading to Westfield for a spot of shopping.
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